


The Quiet

by notaredshirt



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Desk Sex, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaredshirt/pseuds/notaredshirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He quivers and waits, anxious now, as cloth rustles, drawers open and shut, and John stands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with Hendricks in mind, but really it's just an unnamed male and Marcone.

Quiet in John's office. Just the scratch of pen on paper and the soft clack of keys. The passage of time is lost to him, but he can feel the strain in his muscles, in his arms, lashed behind his back, in his thighs, bent face down over John’s desk, in his blinded eyes.

Slow breaths, he can feel the slick of the lube in his ass where slick fingers prepared him, torturously slow, leaving him begging. The prickly ropes around his wrists chafing and the fabric of his waistband digging into his wide-spread thighs. His dick heavy between his legs, he wants- so much. Anything. John’s hands- John’s mouth- John’s voice- Anything to let him come. But... the silent, commanding presence next to him demands obedience, and he can’t move.

His mouth is dry, gasping and moaning, and he wants to move, to thrust against the desk. He shifts and his dick rubs the smooth wood of John’s desk- pain blossoming over his ass and a gasp leaving his mouth. John’s hand smoothing over his smarting ass and a firm voice shushes softly. The hand traced down, down his ass, down his thigh, then up again, tickling and caressing.

Minutes -hours?- passing, then the sound of keys and pens stop. He quivers and waits, anxious now, as cloth rustles, drawers open and shut, and John stands. Then, heat along his back, and John is there, over him, pressing him harder into the desk- then pressing into him. He’s so full -too full- and it hurts. He cries out, grimacing and clenching against John’s intrusion. A sharp slap to his thigh, a command, and he relaxes slowly, as John presses inside. Then it’s only _thrust gasp whisper stroke moan growl plea_ and he’s coming, over the desk, over the files, over John’s hand, and John holds him down. Thrusting and biting and marking, then warm come in his ass, dripping down his thighs, and he’s shaking, shivering against the desk, John’s heat gone, back in his chair, watching.

His knees are weak and he struggles to stay up. Hands still tied, eyes still blind, he slides down the edge of the desk, falling to the floor, panting and shivering.

Squeaky wheels on carpet move closer, then a hand tangles in sweat-soaked hair. Praise and sweet promises fill the thick air and take up the remainder of his strength. He collapses into that hand, guided against a strong thigh, and leans heavily against John, weak, exhausted, thrilled, asleep.


End file.
